Low star coverage.
No planets or moons or nebulae within visible range.
We zoom in closer, picking out a speck of dirty white dust drifting through the void, at the mercy of whichever unimaginably smug higher beings happen to be lurking nearby.
Closer, closer, closer still…ah, it’s not dust, it’s a ship.
The darkness lightens a shade or two, and we’re inside the vessel.
A Klingon that isn’t Worf sits in the sharp spotlight of a room with no decoration. Opposite him, sitting behind the only desk, are two people: a lanky, part-time sleaze with a black beard and a female betazoid in a lilac leotard.
Behind them, shadows creep along the edges of the walls, possibly cameramen, possibly ghosts.
‘I don’t know anything about that,’ says the Klingon, keeping his ridges hyphen-straight.
‘Is that so?’ asks Riker. ‘Then maybe you can explain why you were in Engineering last night…’
‘There’s no point denying it, J’dann, you were seen.’
Riker glances at Troi then back at the Klingon. ‘We didn’t say it was a ‘he’.’
‘We did not say you were seen by a man,’ repeats Troi.
‘Aghh, most of the crew here are men…lobotomised, puny men who never speak, but men nonetheless.’
‘Okay. How about this?’ says Riker. ‘You were overheard in Ten Forward saying, and I quote, ‘Klingon blood has turned to milk…the Romulans are strong…that warp core door looks sabotageable…grrrr, why is everyone in here human?’ Continue reading